Till Death Do Us Part

Ch. 18 - Date From Hell

**I know ya'll were FUMING the house after the last chapter, so here's an early update bc momma loves u so much.**

Roxie's POV

I scoffed, catching the attention of both Jonathan and our waiter. Jonathan gave me a look that dared me to defy what he said.

"I'm allergic to quinoa," I lied with a surgery sweet smile, "I'll have the lobster, please," I finished, noting that the lobster dish was one of the most expensive things on the menu. I might be more of a crab legs girl, but fuck this pompous asshole and his presumptuous ordering. With him being the flashy asshole I already knew he was, I was more than certain he was going to demand that he pay the bill and I wasn't going to argue with him. If I didn't get some sort of revenge for putting up with this dickhead thus far, then I was getting more than screwed.

The waiter didn't give Jonathan even a second to correct my order before he swiped both menus from our hands and scurried off. Jonathan cleared his throat and tried to maintain his calm exterior, but I could see the bulging vein in his forehead that told a different story.

"So, Jonathan, what do you like to do for fun?" I asked before taking a heady gulp of my champagne. He blinked a few times before his eyebrows furrowed. I knew this question was going to throw him for a loop. I had no doubt most women usually ask him about what he does for a living, but I could give a shit less about that. I was doing just fine for myself, I didn't need to dip into his pockets.

"Um, well, I...I like to collect art. I have many original pieces that are one of a kind and basically priceless. Well, obviously they're not priceless," he joked, recovering rather quickly. I hummed back. Was there any topic this guy couldn't relate back to his money? And, not to be a dick, but who found collecting art to be fun? I mean, interesting, yes, but fun? Maybe I just wasn't sophisticated enough to understand.

I was fine with that.

"What do you like to do for fun, Roxanne?" he asked with a challenging glint in his eyes. I gave him a wicked smile before answering.

"Well, cooking is my passion but I also love to read, go hiking, camping is a lot of fun. I did paintball one time which was a blast, but I had this huge bruise on my ass for weeks after. I try to go tubing as often as I can - when I was younger my-" I paused, almost slipping up and saying my boyfriend, "my best friend and I would go out to his family lake house and his dad would purposely wipe us out every time. I can't tell you how sore I always was the day after," I finished with a chuckle. When I finally glanced up and met his eyes after I was done with my tirade, he looked mortified.

"I was thinking you would be the type of girl to enjoy things more along the lines of dance or something," he commented. I snickered before shaking my head. I could see how quickly the image he'd built up of me was tumbling down behind his eyes as he stared at me. Our waiter appearing with our food saved me from trying to find some kind of topic of conversation to fill the awkward silence.

My mouth watered as the delicious smell of my food wafted into my nose. I immediately dug in, purposely using my hands to pull the lobster from its shell. Jonathan cleared his throat as I licked the juices off of my fingers and finally picked up my fork and knife with a shit-eating grin. I only got a few bites into my dish - which was incredible - before Jonathan started talking about himself again. I did my best to keep my mouth shut and not say anything rude or sarcastic between my bites of food - though at some moments I lost and couldn't hold my tongue.

"Well aren't you the coolest thing since sliced bread?" I asked sarcastically under my breath. 

"Excuse me?" he stuttered, shocked by my outburst. I cursed under my breath, realizing I had to fix my stupid mistake. I started to try and cover my ass with some bullshit excuse when I felt the telltale buzz of my cell phone in my clutch. I finally snapped out of the daze he'd put me in. I paused with my excuse mid-sentence before sneakily slipping my phone from the confines of my bag and quickly reading the caller ID. My heart fluttered in my chest before I composed myself. I rushed out the rest of what I was saying, seemingly pacifying him, and waited impatiently for the voicemail notification before throwing back the rest of my champagne and wiping my mouth.